Chanel No 5
by agoddamnbeach
Summary: While he is trapped in Limbo, Mal tells Robert the truth about everything. The look he gives Cobb in the airport is him remembering every word she said.


**A/N: Hi guys! This was based on a LiveJournal Inception Kink Meme prompt. Also, I don't own anything from Inception. Not for a lack of wishing. But you can't always get what you want. :( Read + review thanks so much! **

Though the sand is gritty and gets in his eyes and mouth and nose, there's no place he'd rather be than on this beach. It is better than being at the mercy of the waves again. If he was still in the mode he'd been in back at the snow fortress, he would have immediately analyzed his surroundings, called to mind his training.

_Try to remember how you got here. _

But he is soaked to the skin and tired and freezing cold, so he just lies there in the sand, his mind devoid of coherent thought. He can feel the sun, and maybe if he lies absolutely still he can absorb some of its warmth into his body.

Then a shadow blocks the light, and he looks up to see a woman standing over him. "Get up," she says. "Now. Or I'll be forced to hurt you."

Robert Fischer just stares at her, looking without seeing anything at all-he can't focus on one detail of her. "Who are you?" he mumbles.

He can see her wan smile as he staggers to his feet. "Why, I'm Mrs. Charles."

X

For one instant she is taking Robert's arm forcefully, the next they are in an apartment: modest furniture, a kitchenette, a glass door leading to a small balcony.

"Lie down on the floor. If you move, I'll know, and I'll punish you," the woman warns. Robert realizes she has an accent. He can't quite place it, but it's European.

She disappears and comes back with rope. She starts to tie him up, draping some of the rope over his lower midsection and pulling it tight, and for the first time he can really have a good look at her. She's gorgeous, but it's not like that matters in his compromised state. Her eyes are wild, though. Robert is scared by them.

"Mr. Fischer," she croons, and Robert wonders how she knows his name. She's tying complex knots, knots that he's sure only a Boy Scout could get undone. "Do you know why you're here?"

He shakes his head.

"Not why you're here with _me_-you're here because I wanted you to be here. Do you know why you're dreaming in the first place, Mr. Fischer?"

Robert is glad he has an answer to that question, because for some reason, he doesn't want to seem foolish to her. "Extractors tried to break into my mind."

She gives a mirthless laugh. "Extractors may not be the best word, Mr. Fischer. I think a more appropriate term for your case is . . . inceptors."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

The woman tuts as she loops the rope around his torso a few more times, fully pinning his arms now to his sides. "Language, Mr. Fischer." Robert grinds his teeth together; for a moment he is not prone on the floor of a madwoman's kitchen, but Robert Fischer at the height of his power. "Listen. I want answers. Who did you say you were again?"

"You're in no position to make demands. Do you want me to make you apologize for your rudeness? I'm just trying . . ." she runs her hands over him to make sure no coil of the rope is slack, ". . . to be a good hostess."

"Who are you?" he asks again. "Who I am is not important," she says. "What I'm about to tell you is. So listen carefully, Mr. Fischer. Do you know that man who seemed so nice? Your head of security? Mr. Charles?"

"Yes."

"He's not so nice after all. He's an extractor, and he was the person breaking into your mind in the first place. His team, the others with you in the mountains, they're extractors too. But they weren't extracting, sweet. They were planting."

Robert laughs out loud. _This is absurd. _"You're lying."

She strokes his jawline tenderly, making him flinch from her touch. "Why would I lie to you? I'm the one person here telling you the truth. It's all a lie, Mr. Fischer. There is no safe with the combination 528491; that is a meaningless stream of numbers you created yourself. Browning is innocent of any conspiracy. Your father, I'm sorry to say, is just as disappointed in you as ever, no matter what he may say later on."

"My father?"

"Oh, yes, he's behind the door back in the snow fortress, dying and disappointed, but not because you are a weak, spoiled child with no stomach for the boardroom, but because _you tried to be him, _or some other sort of schlock."

He swallows-her words are like needles. "You said Mr. Charles isn't extracting."

"No. He's performing inception. He's planting an idea so when you wake up, it is there and you are ready to sabotage your life, and the lives of so many others. The idea is for you to dissolve your father's corporation. A businessman hired him-Kuiko? Saito? I'm not the best with names."

There is a silence as Robert's mind spins like a whirligig, processing all the woman has said. He stammers as he asks, "What should I do?"

"They're bound to come here, looking to rescue you. I'll let them have you, as long as Mr. Charles comes down here himself so we can have a chat. You will be brought back to the snow fortress, and once you are there, say and do everything they want, just to make sure everything goes to plan, so you wake up on the 10:46 to LAX in the real world. From there," she grins wickedly, "make them _pay_."

"When will they be here?"

"In an eternity, and in one minute, cherie," she says, conjuring a white strip of cloth from the air. "Hm," she muses, mostly to herself. "There's a chance you won't remember any of this."

She comes closer. Robert's breath hitches; he can smell her perfume-Chanel No. 5? She cups one side of his face and tilts it up so their lips meet.

"Maybe that'll help jog your memory," she rasps, and slips the gag between his teeth.

X

Waking up on the plane, Robert doesn't remember the woman or her apartment or even a great deal of the details from his dream. But he remembers all she has said.

And he is furious.

_First thing I do once this plane lands, _he fumes to himself as he sees the others-those thieves, those criminals!-waking, _is I go to the FBI and report them all for mind crime. _Then he realizes something: he really has no proof that any mind crime happened, nothing besides the gut feeling. It is very difficult to prosecute mind crime; the only way victims really ever get justice is if they apprehend the extractors before they can escape from the scene.

Robert begins to wonder if this gut feeling is just a remnant of some nightmare.

But then he feels the ghost of strange, full lips on his own, and a purring, accented voice saying "Make them _pay_," and he knows it's too vivid not to be real. The anger returns, and he fills out his customs card with more force than necessary, the pen breaking through the paper.

A dark-haired girl keeps stealing glances at him, and he pretends not to notice. Though he is sure she is probably older, her face is childish, round. How did such a girl get mixed up with those criminals? A scene flashes before his eyes: the girl, brown eyes wide, coming to him on the balcony and untying him, murmuring that he was all right, running a finger soothingly through his damp hair. Then pushing him off the balcony's ledge.

He supposes he is grateful to _her, _in some little way.

At the luggage carousel, he sees him. Mr. Charles. He feels an especially enraged lurch looking at him-not only because he'd ultimately betrayed him, but because he'd managed to dupe _him, _Robert Fischer, the man who had graduated summa cum laude from Yale.

Just looking at him cockily stride across the airport makes him decide to make them pay without the help of the FBI, or Interpol, or any other organization. Starting with his friend Mr. Charles.

They had thought he was weak. A victim. Now Robert would prove he was anything but.

_Do you think you're safe now, Mr. Charles? Because mark my words . . . you will never be safe again. _

**Sorry if there was any weirdness with the spacing . . . I have to use the Notepad app instead of my computer's actual word processor because I have a Mac and the site doesn't support Pages. Thanks for understanding. **


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